Omniscience and Profilers
by Amy5918
Summary: Because there's nothing more adorable than watching profilers being clueless about one - or two - of their own. And since JJ is pregnant and Hotch is the boss, it can all be interpreted as a good boss being considerate of his pregnant colleague. Right?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will have at between five to seven chapters, and it will feature the team's insights into what I think is the most adorable thing about profilers: their own blindness to seemingly innocent behavioral cues. First off, Garcia.**

 **Omniscience in a room full of experienced profilers**

Penelope Garcia is nothing if not intuitive. Underneath a lifetime of electronic metaphorical crutches and retro accessories is someone not entirely unfamiliar with her own talent for innate omniscience. Such a talent, however, when it comes to a room full of well-trained profilers, is an asset better used as a concealed weapon. Mind you, a pink, fluffy, used-for-good-and-for-good-only concealed weapon, but a kickass advantage nevertheless.

Ironically, Penelope Garcia forgot the most important rule about omniscience: the one thing it does not prepare you for is for its own consequences. And that's because omniscience can read into everyone's life except her own. With great power comes great responsibility, and all that crap.

Crap indeed. Hotch just stood up and nobody gave it a second glance. He gave his chair to JJ, as any gentleman would, but then he lingered. He _lingered_. And she smiled. Not to him. Not to them. She smiled into her shoulder, into his lingering. And neither saw either. Damned omniscience and its owl-like wisdom and insights.

"Garcia, did you ask the sheriff about both victims' sealed records?"

Oh, yes, focus on that chocolate beauty of yours. Eyes like those should be forbidden to roam the earth among mere mortals.

"Of course. As I was saying…"

Maybe she can fool them with creepy words and scary stories. That always seems to do the trick. Blood, and guts, and brains, and knives, and headless bodies, and bodiless heads.

"Damn, that's one hell of an angry guy." Reid's thoughtful faraway look is proof enough of her success. Nobody noticed her poorly masked stunned look, or her squeak-of-surprise-turned into-a-sneeze. Not even Rossi, with all his frustratingly accomplished past of penetrating the most unreadable minds of the planet.

"Or woman." Prentiss adds, almost as an afterthought.

"It's unlikely, but not impossible." Reid concedes. "Although the degree of rage, the highly physical MO and the victim's ages all point towards a very fit male unsub."

"Or a very fit woman. Rumor has it there are _some_ … in very remote parts of the world..." JJ smiles provocatively, and pats her growing belly affectionately. Garcia absolutely does _not_ see Hotch eyeing the blond in silent, but playful, disapproval.

"All pregnant women are beautiful, kid." Rossi chuckles and closes his file. "So when do we leave?"

Everyone looks at Hotch, who just nods, and they all seem to know what to do. Garcia observes fondly from a distance. A family with procedures, as she often thinks of them. Only while everyone is focusing every available neurone on where their go-bags are or on cracking the case before setting foot on the jet, Garcia's omniscience is running at full blast.

And it catches a glimpse of uncensored behaviour. A tiny glitch in an otherwise perfectly nonchalant manner of being. While her own body functions on autopilot, her eyes shamelessly scan the scene in front of them.

Hotch, in his gentle but firm way, subtly guides JJ away from the rest into a corner of the room.

"Do you want to stay behind on this one?" Although Garcia is quite sure the tone Hotch was going for was stern, she is even more certain he wanted his body language to match his spoken message. Which is not happening. At all. Not judging by his slightly fidgety feet or his hand hovering – without touching – JJ's back.

"Do you want me to?" Garcia also knows that the innocent-somewhat-submissive-yet-hurt look has a certain certified effect on the opposite sex. Judging by JJ's lack of breathing and faintly parted lips, however, the tech suspects it is not a conscious flirting effort on the blond's behalf. Oh, damn. It would be so much easier if it were something she could tease JJ about and be done with.

"It's not about what I want. It's about what is safe." Garcia actually smiles at that. Their boss, ever so gallant and honourable, his honest intentions getting betrayed by the subtlest sigh of relief as he read into JJ's behaviour even before she got to respond.

"I feel safe with you." And thank all the heavens for the English pronouns and their merciful way-outs. Maybe JJ meant the team. You, as in all of the team. The entirety of the team, as a group. You, as plural, and not as a sole person. omniscience can go take a long walk, and come back only when it is time for trivia night with Kevin. If JJ and Hotch can pretend not to hear what they're both actually saying, then so can she. And so she will.

And as everyone but Garcia is entering the jet, she is left thinking – unamused, one might add – that omniscience, in a room filled with experienced profilers, rather than a must-have skill, is _incredibly_ overrated.

 **A/N: The first of five is done. I just love this pairing. Tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**II. Winner Chooses Dinner**

Spencer Reid is nothing short of mind-blowingly brilliant. If the average mind were to attempt to quantify the brilliancy of Reid's intellect, said set of mediocre brains would most certainly implode. And, legend has it, such a tragedy has happened already. Once. No-one dared go on such a crusade again. Ever since the incident, everyone abides by the silent rule that places Reid atop the intellectual pyramid.

Not that the young doctor cares. Nope. He is just content to share mental space with some very witty and geeky thoughts every day. Sometimes he even makes himself laugh, a detail he chooses to keep to himself for embarrassing reasons.

"I finished the geographical profile at precisely seven thirteen p.m., Morgan, don't even start."

Morgan laughs his cheeky laugh, and sits back on the chair, looking around smugly. "Reid, Reid… You should've known I would eventually win. Don't you know by now that I always aim to improve?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" What did I miss?

Prentiss and JJ share an amused smirk with Rossi, and even Hotch shows the faintest hint of a smile. Now _that_ 's upsetting. He frowns.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we got him. We finally got him." Morgan stands up and does a little victory dance. Reid huffs rather childishly, and resists the urge to stomp his foot. No-one beats him at his own game.

"You didn't get me, Morgan. None of you did. I have an eidetic memory and I distinctly remember circling the last area at precisely seven thirteen p.m. Now, I must confess I wasn't counting the seconds, but seven thirteen is marginally different from seven thirty. So, no. You didn't win. I did. And I choose Italian." While everyone groans at Reid's dinner choice, Morgan maintains his I'm-unbelievably-pleased-with-myself look. And it is, quite frankly, unnerving. "What? What am I missing?"

"Everything, dear Spence. Everything." Morgan laughs, and one thing Reid can definitely tell from his friend's behaviour is that he _is damn sure_. And while Morgan is an all-around confident guy, he typically only displays that degree of sureness if he has undeniable proof of his victory. "What time, say you, did you finish your task?"

Reid rolls his eyes, torn between curious and irritated. "At seven thirteen, Morgan, as I-"

"Seven thirteen which were ascertained through which device, dear genius?"

"My wrist-watch, as you all know." Reid eyes the team expectantly, hoping to hear squeaks and gasps of surprise and acknowledgement of their miscalculations.

"Which, I'm sorry-not-sorry to say, got tampered with."

Well, that explains it. Reid stares incredulously at his friends, and starts reliving the afternoon in his mind. Hotch tasks him with the geo, as per usual. Prentiss lightly suggests they revive Reid's old game of betting on when the geo map is finished. Winner chooses dinner. Reid decides to go all-in, because he is craving Italian and knows Rossi will simply not abide by it – Italian take-out in the suburbs of Texas is a disgrace in every sense of the word. As he proudly announces he will be done at seven thirty, max, the remaining team members place the rest of their bets. But how…?

JJ.

Reid squints in JJ's direction, and her mischievous giggle is proof enough. "You sneaky little…"

"Sorry, Spence." Her expression, however, is everything but apologetic. She is outright grinning, clearly proud of her achievement. With one hand on her stomach, she is leaning against Hotch's chair. "I must admit it wasn't easy."

"You fixed my sleeve. And _fixed_ my watch as a bonus. It must be, what, eight p.m. already?" He is now grinning right back at her. It gives him great pleasure to acknowledge a good trick, and JJ deserves the praise. "I'm impressed. I admit defeat. So… if not me, whose turn is it?"

Everyone looks around, and Hotch clears his throat. "Mine."

Well, there goes the Italian, the Turkish, the Thai, the Chinese… Reid sighs. Maybe someone will offer to go buy those five-minute pasta bowls, and be done with it. Hotch may be an impressive human being on many levels, but food-making or meal-choosing are domains that he simply does not excel at. There's no shame in that. There should, however, be a law forbidding him from deciding everyone's daily, and very necessary, intake of calories. He almost never chooses _right_.

But well, rules are rules.

"So, what's it gonna be?" Rossi asks, a rather funny – teasing? – look in his eyes as he leans back against the table. "I just ask that it not be Italian. I have not tasted, nor will I ever taste, Texan Italian." And the firmness in his voice is final, as if referring to a life or death situation. Prentiss snorts, and earns herself a playful slap in the back of her head.

Hotch just stares at everyone, as if deep in thought, but something in his unfocused gaze triggers Reid's investigative neurons. Subconsciously tilting his head to the side, he gasps as internally as he can muster: Hotch and JJ's pinky fingers are touching. Actually touching. And both their bodies are subconsciously – he hopes – angling towards one another. Hotch purses his lips and speaks lightly but firmly.

"Tacos."

And everyone is just as surprised as the young doctor and his investigative neurons. Or rather, his investigative neurons fail to provide him with a credible reaction other than an honest look of surprise, as they are still gathering and linking all the clues.

"C'mon, Hotch. I thought we agreed!" Morgan called out to Hotch's disappearing profile, as the older agent stepped out to order the tacos.

"Yeah… I nearly drooled on our way over here daydreaming of pork ribs… dipped in barbecue sauce… and a cold, cold beer." Prentiss sighed.

"Well, younglings, fair game is fair game." Rossi chuckles.

"But we had all agreed upon ribs. Ribs, Rossi. Not tacos."

"Stop whining, children." JJ stands up and playfully pinches Morgan's cheek. "If you behave, I promise I'll let you have chocolate for desert."

"Promise, Ma?" He flashes her a smile and she rolls his eyes, all but waddling to the bathroom.

"Hmm…"

"Something on your mind, kid?" Rossi is staring straight at Reid. Oops. Did his thinking finally get a voice of its own? Just smile and go full-geek, and hope Rossi-the-portable-lie-detector chooses to ignore the obvious signs.

"There's always something on my mind. In fact, even those who answer negatively to such a question like yours are guilty of an infinite paradox. Because while they do believe their minds are void of content at that precise moment, the mere fact that they are able to voice such an idea is indicative of something being on their minds." Clearing his throat uncomfortably at Rossi's raised eyebrow, he stood up to go get some air. "And that's it."

CM*CM*CM*CM

And how, pray tell, did an attempt at getting away to think in peace turn into an unfortunate situation of eavesdropping? Why, oh why can't they just look down the stairs and see him playing with his Rubik cube?

"Did you order already?" JJ's voice carries in the slight breeze, and Reid can almost feel the awkwardness – or something else entirely? – in her tone.

"Yes." Simple. Direct. And yet… there definitely is something different in Hotch's monosyllabic speech pattern… a little something that Reid can't quite figure out yet.

"Oh. I was hoping to catch you before you did. I know we all usually get the day's special, but I wanted…"

"Tomato, no onion, cucumber, lettuce, chips and pineapple."

Now Reid can undoubtedly hear JJ's stunned silence. "How…?"

Hotch chuckles. "I'm a profiler, JJ. I profile."

"You profiled that I, a girl who used to gag at the mere sight of pineapple, would want it in my taco?" She questions, torn between disbelief and amazement.

Hotch shrugs and Reid smiles to himself. Picturing gestures through words and tones of voices is kind of interesting. Maybe he should start watching the news with his back to the tv in order to further develop this new cool skill of his.

"It wasn't difficult. A few weeks back I noticed you started bringing sliced pineapple to go with your salad. And the following day you ate it while you drank hot chocolate. When I saw you eating it all by itself, though, was when I knew it. You crave pineapple. So…" He shrugs again and smiles sheepishly. "It wasn't difficult."

"No, I guess it wasn't." JJ smiles softly. "And the tacos…?"

"Back on the plane, you said you felt like having one. I was just, you know… trying to be considerate." Hotch clears his throat, and Reid is quite sure – sure enough to bet – that his eyes are focused on everything but JJ's.

"But I could have eaten ribs too. I know you don't particularly like tacos. Thank you." Through the corner of his eye, Reid sees JJ standing at the tip of her toes and kissing Hotch on the cheek.

For a taco. JJ kissed Hotch's cheek – a gesture usually reserved for a greeting, a job well done, or a display of affection – for a taco. Oh, and pineapple. JJ kissed their boss's cheek and smiles a very sweet smile because he _profiled_ her, something that she always groaned at when any of the others attempted.

Now, Reid is unquestionably smart, and his intellect parallels no other as far as mortals are concerned. But the lengths a pregnant woman will go for tacos and pineapple slices is perplexing even for him.

Maybe he should call Garcia.

 **A/N: And there go two. Next one will be Morgan's point of view ;) read and review, let me know what you think. Also, I am Portuguese, so any mistakes you find, feel free to point them out, I really want to improve my English and I know some stuff are really difficult to get right unless you "live the language" on a daily basis.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This one is particularly dear to me, as it involves my four favourite characters. I chose to write Morgan and Prentiss together, with an emphasis on Morgan's POV, and next chapter will be the reverse.**

 **III. Coping**

Derek Morgan has been working on perfecting the art of compartmentalizing ever since he joined the BAU. And after brutal cases such as this one, he thanks his lucky stars for that. Not that he has reached perfection yet, but it gets easier and easier to choose the time and place to deal with the aftermath of sheer psychological distress.

Which is his ultimate goal. He doesn't want to stop feeling like crap every time his notion of humanity is challenged. No, what he really wants is to feel like he at least controls who gets to witness him breakdown and where.

And he has learnt from the best. Well, the best at teaching, not exactly the best at doing. He envies both Hotch and Rossi's permanently controlled facial expressions and practically inexistent emotional outbursts, but he kinda frowns upon their off-work coping strategies: serial marriages and sleeping-where-one-works do not exactly a good life make.

But hey, after a tough case they are the least likely to fall apart, so in Derek's book they're doing alright.

He squints in the jet's direction and sees the staircase already there. He sighs. Someone's already there, which means his plan to relax for a little bit without four profilers and a very observant media liaison just went down the drain. Climbing up the stairs, however, he sees a very sleepy Prentiss sitting on the top step, her head leaning against the small wall.

"Emily?"

She looks a bit startled and yawns. "Hey."

Derek just stands there, looking bewildered. "Hey."

"D'you wanna sit?" She pats the floor next to her.

"Hmm… not that a seat that is cold, hard and probably damp from humidity doesn't sound appealing, but rumor has it there's a plane just behind you with cushioned seats and a heating system." He grins, and she just rolls her eyes.

"Well, if only I had thought of that before I decided to treat myself with a cold and some impressive back and neck pain."

Derek chuckles. "All the more reason… C'mon, what do you say, Princess?" He extends a hand to her, and she takes it, but instead of helping her up, she pulls him down next to her. "Ow. Damn… hard floor alright."

"Shush." She punches his shoulder playfully, and places a finger to her own lips. "Quiet down, you loud man."

"And you ain't seen nothing yet, Prentiss." He smirks, and relaxes, his back leaning against the wall. "So, apparently, not only do we have to pretend that this is the best place to hang out after a brutal case, but we also cannot make noise. Do I want to know why?"

Prentiss just smiles. "It depends on how well can you keep a secret."

Derek scrunches his nose. "I can keep a secret alright."

"Really?" She raises an eyebrow. "From Penelope, I mean?"

He looks less confident now, but he still manages a nod.

"Go. In and out in less than a minute. Quiet as a mouse. Don't ruin it." She motions for the semi-opened door.

Derek looks at her, intrigued by her almost affectionate smile, and carefully stands up. He tiptoes past the door, and just as he is about to enter the jet's main lounge, he sees what she means. He really, _really_ sees what she means, and he instantly mirrors Emily's fond smile. He conceals himself a little better before inspecting the scene before his eyes a little more in-depth.

Derek allows his eyes to scan Hotch's sleeping form first, and then JJ's. They're both sleeping soundly on the jet's armless sofa, Hotch in a sitting position and JJ sleeping on her side with her head on his lap. He notices Hotch managed to cover her back with his own jacket, and one of his hands was holding one of hers. There's a stack of papers on the floor, which can only mean both of them attempted to do some kind of paperwork – as a necessity or an excuse Derek doesn't know – before falling asleep like that.

Exhaling deeply, he silently walks to where Emily is awaiting him with a knowing smile on her lips. He clears his throat and shrugs, not sure why he feels the need to justify his friends' actions. "It _was_ a brutal case."

"Yes. Yes it was."

"And JJ was… I mean, it can't have been easy to hear about the unsub's past."

Emily nodded. "That level of detachment and sadism from such an early age… it can make even the sanest person wonder."

"Even more so when that person's about to bring a tiny little human into the world." Derek muses. "It's, huh… bound to cause some anxiety. And we all have our coping methods."

"True." Emily closes her eyes, the lack of sleep evident in her mumbled words. "I'm glad."

And he doesn't have to ask what she is glad about. Whatever may be happening in both his friends' personal lives, he, too, is glad they found a way to cope.

CMCMCM

And so as each member of the team arrived at the staircase, they would find the remaining profilers sitting on the steps – some sleeping, some playing on their phones – and they would be told the same story. And the kind-hearted, well-intentioned conspiracy bought Hotch and JJ two extra hours of sleep.

When the pilot came to the stairs to tell them it was finally time to go, each profiler made their way silently to the seats further away from the sleeping couple, to afford them some privacy. Morgan eyed Hotch – who got woken up by the buzz of take-off and was still clearly too drowsy to be able to react to what was happening – and smiled a small smile in his direction. Hotch caught it and relaxed back into his seat as Morgan mouthed _Don't worry. Enjoy._

 **A/N: So? What did you guys think? I've had this image in my head for quite some time, and what really draws me towards these two characters is that they're both very noble and very stoic when it comes to personal relationships. Even JJ, who I would've thought would be more open when it comes to talking about her feelings, managed to surprise me with the whole Will situation.**

 **I don't know, I just like them. ;) Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **Next chapter, Prentiss!**


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